Gemotions

He ran his hand over the perfectly aligned rows of orchids in his greenhouse. The intricate patterns of color on the petals, a consequence of his Chromatic Anomaly, were a source of fascination and, he freely admitted to himself, delight. His orchids had won every local competition for the past five years.

He heard a knock at the greenhouse door. It was Mrs. Peterson, a woman he knew as a quiet observer who took an interest in his flowers. “Mr. Davies,” she said, her voice unusually hesitant. “I… I think I know what you have.”

He straightened, a small smile playing on his lips. “Oh?” he asked, genuinely curious.

Mrs. Peterson held out her hand, revealing a vibrant, almost luminescent, patch of skin discoloration. “Chromatic Anomaly. I’ve had it since I was a child. Your flowers... They inspired me." A small blush rose to her cheeks. He felt a wave of warmth.